adil
08-18-2007, 02:19 PM
just a short story i wrote
Untitled!
The morning sun shone brightly, tearing through the thick grey clouds that loomed across the Monday morning sky. A little house stood neatly packed between other small houses, this house however, was being overpowered by emotions that ran high.
Inside the house, Mrs. Slate stood in her compact kitchen, holding tightly a spatchula in front of the gas stove and wearing an odd grin. Mr. Slate was firmly seated at the breakfast table surrounded by various documents and amongst these were plates holding fried eggs and bacon and several slices of toast stacked high. The bright, white light of the sun broadly spread across the table. Mr. Slate was now guffawing as he read from a small letter.
“Arthur, why are you reading that, again?” said Mrs. Slate, she said seriously, still trying to maintain her grin.
“Because, dear, I can hardly believe it’s true! After all those…” he paused, held his breath and then began again. “Months, without any money, I’ve finally got a job. I can finally fulfill my fatherhood responsibilities again, I can provide for my own family, again!” he chuckled; his grin became as wide as Mrs. Slates. “I’m so happy, dear”.
“Things are finally looking up again for us, Arthur”. The Slates hugged each other tightly. The sun, shone brighter, almost completely submerging the grey cloud under its angelic radiance.
“Come, on, Angela! Don’t want you being late do we?” said Mrs. Slate in her usual maternal voice, to which all The Slates were so accustomed to.
After several shouts, Angela entered in the kitchen, quickly grabbing a slice of toast from her father’s plate. She stopped and looked at her father’s letter, and smiled slightly.
“Where’s my, phone?” yelled Angela as she sat down on the chair beside her father.
“In your coat pocket, dear.” Angela rose and checked her coat pocket to find the phone. It was an old phone, perhaps two to three years older than the latest models. The screen fairly large, as was the phone itself. Angela loved it; she was given it, by her parents for her sixteenth birthday.
“Big day, for you too Dad” said Angela who was now fidgeting with the buttons on her phone.
“Yes, Angie, and today is your?” said Mr. Slates, his voice became quieter because he forgot what the day was-for Angela.
“My presentation, with any luck, it should land me in the company’s good books, I’m the only one presenting, but you know they have to follow procedures.”
“Where’s your brother?”
A dark cloud moved in front of the sun, casting shade onto the cluttered table. The weather was unusually mobile today.
“He’s getting ready for school. I’ll go and get him” said Angela in a cheery voice.
Several minutes later, Damien, entered the room, still half asleep, but fully dressed.
“Oh, Damien, still tired, are we? I told you not to keep and watching T.V late at nights.”
“Yeah, sorry, so Dad, first day today, you must be chuffed, then?” asked Damien.
“I, am, indeed” replied his father in unusually long tones, trying to make his sentence last longer. The sun was now disappearing, beyond the clouds once again.
Damien and Angela had both already left the house, and Mr. Slate was in his car, almost ready to leave. Mrs. Slate never thought it was too early to start cleaning. She clambered down the stairs, holding a large laundry basket; she then stumbled into the kitchen. She was holding a cracked pale blue laundry basket tightly packed with several large bed sheets.
‘I’ll get these done; it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, anyway.’ thought Mrs. Slate. She unpacked the sheets; the sun was now calm and still surrounded by a film of dark grey that seemed to be smeared across the sky. The wind was blowing fiercely, so it was a perfect opportunity to hang her sheets out to dry. She held onto one sheet, inspecting it, and noticed that it was covered in scarlet blood. The stains were pear shaped; they were small and only appeared at the top of the bed sheet. Mrs. Slate’s expression dropped to a concerned frown, she looked out of the window and saw that the slight specks of rain began to lightly drop from the shaded sky. She let out an annoyed grunt and stuffed the sheets back into the laundry basket and began to scrub the pots and plates.
Several hours had past. Mrs. Slate was preparing dinner for Damien and Angela who would be arriving any minute now. She had felt uneasy through the day, the weather did too, the rain finally stopped, and the sun began to shine brightly again. Mrs. Slate had been somewhat inattentive today. She cut her finger twice with her large vegetable knife. On both occasions she was staring out of the window, analyzing something, she stared and thought. Then “Ouch” she screamed, glaring at her injured finger. Although the rain briefly stopped, the bed sheets were still stuffed in that laundry basket.
It was 3 ‘o’ clock and Mrs. Slate had finished everything she had planned, all except washing the bed sheets. The phone suddenly rang, breaking the silence that covered the room. Mrs. Slate wore a concerned yet happy expression, and answered the phone in the same way. “Hello?”
“Hello, Jackie?” said a familiar feminine voice.
“Yes” said Mrs. Slate who then smiled, half-knowing who was speaking to her.
“It’s me, Kim. Kim from the agency”
“Oh Hi, Kim, can I help you?” she said, relieved. She knew Kim could only ever be calling her with pleasant news.
“As a matter of fact, you can, we need you again, I know you said you wanted to retire, but we have a great part for you, you’d only be away for a month, and it’s for charity, the pay is great too! Twice the amount they offered before.”
The front door unlocked, and then approached a drenched Angela, wearing a hood and a smirk. She darted into the kitchen, now beaming, and her more than damp umbrella swung behind her. She sat down, and half listened to her mother still on the phone.
“OK, goodbye,” finished Mrs. Slate. She sat down on the table, as though she had just retrieved herself from a ride. She gathered herself and looked at Angela who was looking at her, both grinning widely. The rain fell faster as the sky became darker. It became so dark; Mrs. Slate drew the blind, and switched on the light.
“Well, mum, what’s up?” asked Angela, who was as eager to hear her mum’s news as she was to share her own.
“I’ve been asked to act, again, the pay is incredible, and how did your day go?”
“Well, the company is sending me abroad, for a new business plan” she said. They both realized that they were going to have to leave the house.
“Is it okay?” asked Angela in a grave tone.
“Well, I’m only going to be gone a month, and your father can look after the Damien, he’s old enough himself now anyway.” explained Mrs. Slate, convincing herself first.
Damien finally came from school. He ran upstairs, and his mother and sister heard the bathroom door slam.
“So when do you leave?”
“In about a week”
Damien came downstairs and sat on the table, he looked pale.
“You OK?” asked Angela.
“I’m fine” he said swiftly.
“Listen, Damien, I have to go back to work, I’m leaving in a week, and I’ll be gone for a month.” said Mrs. Slate calmly as she could.
“That’s great news, mum, the family is finally getting back to normal” said Damien as he coughed slightly. “What about you, Angela?”
“I’m going too; I’ll be leaving for quite some time. I’ll be going at the end of this week too.”
“As long as you’re happy, we’ve been through some bad times.” said Damien innocently, although Angela thought otherwise.
“What are you talking about, you didn’t even give a damn, you gave mum and dad so much grief, asking for money they didn’t have, screaming and shouting at them” hissed Angela. “Stealing money to buy cig…”
“Enough!” roared Mrs. Slate. “Damien is right, we’ve been through some bad times, and now that you’re happy it’s good.
Damien planted his sight firmly on his shoes in shame and Angela had fixated her eyes on him.
“Oh, by the way, I was going to wash your bed sheets” said Mrs. Slate being unclear to whom she was speaking to. “And I noticed…”
Her voice was cut off, by Mr. Slate who had returned from his first day at work.
“Hello everybody” yelled Mr. Slate. “I’m back!”
“Arthur! How was it?”
Damien retired to his room, and then after some insight to Mr. Slate’s first day back at work, Angela left too. Mrs. Slate shared her news to her husband who was equally thrilled.
“Everything is great!”
Three weeks had passed, Mrs. Slate and Angela were still away and Mr. Slate had already left for work. Damien stood alone, where his mother once stood. He stared out of the window, as she had once done. He looked at a new basket of laundry covered in fresher blood. He began to cough and hung his head over the sink. Blood sprayed out of his mouth and Damien glared at it. He rinsed the sink and the blood flowed away. He stared out of the window once again as he clutched the laundry basket. He stared at the window and looked at the sun, no longer white, but cooler ochre, and the grey now darker and bordering on black.
“Great.”
Untitled!
The morning sun shone brightly, tearing through the thick grey clouds that loomed across the Monday morning sky. A little house stood neatly packed between other small houses, this house however, was being overpowered by emotions that ran high.
Inside the house, Mrs. Slate stood in her compact kitchen, holding tightly a spatchula in front of the gas stove and wearing an odd grin. Mr. Slate was firmly seated at the breakfast table surrounded by various documents and amongst these were plates holding fried eggs and bacon and several slices of toast stacked high. The bright, white light of the sun broadly spread across the table. Mr. Slate was now guffawing as he read from a small letter.
“Arthur, why are you reading that, again?” said Mrs. Slate, she said seriously, still trying to maintain her grin.
“Because, dear, I can hardly believe it’s true! After all those…” he paused, held his breath and then began again. “Months, without any money, I’ve finally got a job. I can finally fulfill my fatherhood responsibilities again, I can provide for my own family, again!” he chuckled; his grin became as wide as Mrs. Slates. “I’m so happy, dear”.
“Things are finally looking up again for us, Arthur”. The Slates hugged each other tightly. The sun, shone brighter, almost completely submerging the grey cloud under its angelic radiance.
“Come, on, Angela! Don’t want you being late do we?” said Mrs. Slate in her usual maternal voice, to which all The Slates were so accustomed to.
After several shouts, Angela entered in the kitchen, quickly grabbing a slice of toast from her father’s plate. She stopped and looked at her father’s letter, and smiled slightly.
“Where’s my, phone?” yelled Angela as she sat down on the chair beside her father.
“In your coat pocket, dear.” Angela rose and checked her coat pocket to find the phone. It was an old phone, perhaps two to three years older than the latest models. The screen fairly large, as was the phone itself. Angela loved it; she was given it, by her parents for her sixteenth birthday.
“Big day, for you too Dad” said Angela who was now fidgeting with the buttons on her phone.
“Yes, Angie, and today is your?” said Mr. Slates, his voice became quieter because he forgot what the day was-for Angela.
“My presentation, with any luck, it should land me in the company’s good books, I’m the only one presenting, but you know they have to follow procedures.”
“Where’s your brother?”
A dark cloud moved in front of the sun, casting shade onto the cluttered table. The weather was unusually mobile today.
“He’s getting ready for school. I’ll go and get him” said Angela in a cheery voice.
Several minutes later, Damien, entered the room, still half asleep, but fully dressed.
“Oh, Damien, still tired, are we? I told you not to keep and watching T.V late at nights.”
“Yeah, sorry, so Dad, first day today, you must be chuffed, then?” asked Damien.
“I, am, indeed” replied his father in unusually long tones, trying to make his sentence last longer. The sun was now disappearing, beyond the clouds once again.
Damien and Angela had both already left the house, and Mr. Slate was in his car, almost ready to leave. Mrs. Slate never thought it was too early to start cleaning. She clambered down the stairs, holding a large laundry basket; she then stumbled into the kitchen. She was holding a cracked pale blue laundry basket tightly packed with several large bed sheets.
‘I’ll get these done; it doesn’t look like it’s going to rain, anyway.’ thought Mrs. Slate. She unpacked the sheets; the sun was now calm and still surrounded by a film of dark grey that seemed to be smeared across the sky. The wind was blowing fiercely, so it was a perfect opportunity to hang her sheets out to dry. She held onto one sheet, inspecting it, and noticed that it was covered in scarlet blood. The stains were pear shaped; they were small and only appeared at the top of the bed sheet. Mrs. Slate’s expression dropped to a concerned frown, she looked out of the window and saw that the slight specks of rain began to lightly drop from the shaded sky. She let out an annoyed grunt and stuffed the sheets back into the laundry basket and began to scrub the pots and plates.
Several hours had past. Mrs. Slate was preparing dinner for Damien and Angela who would be arriving any minute now. She had felt uneasy through the day, the weather did too, the rain finally stopped, and the sun began to shine brightly again. Mrs. Slate had been somewhat inattentive today. She cut her finger twice with her large vegetable knife. On both occasions she was staring out of the window, analyzing something, she stared and thought. Then “Ouch” she screamed, glaring at her injured finger. Although the rain briefly stopped, the bed sheets were still stuffed in that laundry basket.
It was 3 ‘o’ clock and Mrs. Slate had finished everything she had planned, all except washing the bed sheets. The phone suddenly rang, breaking the silence that covered the room. Mrs. Slate wore a concerned yet happy expression, and answered the phone in the same way. “Hello?”
“Hello, Jackie?” said a familiar feminine voice.
“Yes” said Mrs. Slate who then smiled, half-knowing who was speaking to her.
“It’s me, Kim. Kim from the agency”
“Oh Hi, Kim, can I help you?” she said, relieved. She knew Kim could only ever be calling her with pleasant news.
“As a matter of fact, you can, we need you again, I know you said you wanted to retire, but we have a great part for you, you’d only be away for a month, and it’s for charity, the pay is great too! Twice the amount they offered before.”
The front door unlocked, and then approached a drenched Angela, wearing a hood and a smirk. She darted into the kitchen, now beaming, and her more than damp umbrella swung behind her. She sat down, and half listened to her mother still on the phone.
“OK, goodbye,” finished Mrs. Slate. She sat down on the table, as though she had just retrieved herself from a ride. She gathered herself and looked at Angela who was looking at her, both grinning widely. The rain fell faster as the sky became darker. It became so dark; Mrs. Slate drew the blind, and switched on the light.
“Well, mum, what’s up?” asked Angela, who was as eager to hear her mum’s news as she was to share her own.
“I’ve been asked to act, again, the pay is incredible, and how did your day go?”
“Well, the company is sending me abroad, for a new business plan” she said. They both realized that they were going to have to leave the house.
“Is it okay?” asked Angela in a grave tone.
“Well, I’m only going to be gone a month, and your father can look after the Damien, he’s old enough himself now anyway.” explained Mrs. Slate, convincing herself first.
Damien finally came from school. He ran upstairs, and his mother and sister heard the bathroom door slam.
“So when do you leave?”
“In about a week”
Damien came downstairs and sat on the table, he looked pale.
“You OK?” asked Angela.
“I’m fine” he said swiftly.
“Listen, Damien, I have to go back to work, I’m leaving in a week, and I’ll be gone for a month.” said Mrs. Slate calmly as she could.
“That’s great news, mum, the family is finally getting back to normal” said Damien as he coughed slightly. “What about you, Angela?”
“I’m going too; I’ll be leaving for quite some time. I’ll be going at the end of this week too.”
“As long as you’re happy, we’ve been through some bad times.” said Damien innocently, although Angela thought otherwise.
“What are you talking about, you didn’t even give a damn, you gave mum and dad so much grief, asking for money they didn’t have, screaming and shouting at them” hissed Angela. “Stealing money to buy cig…”
“Enough!” roared Mrs. Slate. “Damien is right, we’ve been through some bad times, and now that you’re happy it’s good.
Damien planted his sight firmly on his shoes in shame and Angela had fixated her eyes on him.
“Oh, by the way, I was going to wash your bed sheets” said Mrs. Slate being unclear to whom she was speaking to. “And I noticed…”
Her voice was cut off, by Mr. Slate who had returned from his first day at work.
“Hello everybody” yelled Mr. Slate. “I’m back!”
“Arthur! How was it?”
Damien retired to his room, and then after some insight to Mr. Slate’s first day back at work, Angela left too. Mrs. Slate shared her news to her husband who was equally thrilled.
“Everything is great!”
Three weeks had passed, Mrs. Slate and Angela were still away and Mr. Slate had already left for work. Damien stood alone, where his mother once stood. He stared out of the window, as she had once done. He looked at a new basket of laundry covered in fresher blood. He began to cough and hung his head over the sink. Blood sprayed out of his mouth and Damien glared at it. He rinsed the sink and the blood flowed away. He stared out of the window once again as he clutched the laundry basket. He stared at the window and looked at the sun, no longer white, but cooler ochre, and the grey now darker and bordering on black.
“Great.”